The Lady Traveller's Guide To Deception With An Unlikely Earl. Victoria Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

      “Why?” He grinned. “Are you always so suspicious?”

      “No. In fact, I am quite trusting of most people. Trusting you, however—”

      He winced. Not that he didn’t deserve her distrust.

      “—does not strike me as especially wise. I would be remiss if I did not question your motives. We are here after all because you are determined to prove me a fraud and I am determined to prove you wrong.” She shrugged. “Under these circumstances, suspicion does seem the wiser course.”

      “I’ll grant you that. However, just for the span of the sunrise, let us forget we are at odds. Do me the honor of joining me in the tradition of myself and my friends in a salute to what lies ahead. There is nothing as inspiring as watching the sun rise up out of the sea.”

      “Very well.” Her eyes twinkled. “But you have only one glass.”

      “Which I shall gladly sacrifice for the pleasure of your company.”

      “How very gallant of you.”

      “I can be very gallant. You should make note of that.” He opened the bottle, filled the glass and handed it to her, then raised the bottle toward the sun. “To the new day and the adventures it will bring.” And to those who are no longer with us, he added silently. He took a long drink from the bottle and sent a prayer of thanks to Ben. It was an excellent vintage, even straight from the bottle.

      “To the adventures that lie ahead.” She raised her glass and took a sip, then wrinkled her nose.

      “Is it not to your liking?”

      “Oh no, it’s quite lovely really but the bubbles tickle my nose.” She fluttered her fingers in front of her nose. “Which is perhaps part of the enjoyment. I will confess I rarely have champagne and never in the morning. But it is delightful.”

      “There is no better way to start a trip than with a glass of France’s finest.”

      “And there is something both optimistic and invigorating about watching the sun make its first appearance of the day over the ocean. I agree with you, Mr. Armstrong.” She sipped her wine and turned her attention back to the sunrise. “The champagne makes it even better. I shall have to remember that. This is indeed an excellent way to start a grand adventure.”

      “I must say I’m impressed. From reading your stories one would assume that the first dawn of a new journey toward Egypt would be rather commonplace for you. And yet you seem quite enthusiastic.”

      “Would you prefer I be jaded and cynical as you appear to be?”

      “I believe older and wiser a more accurate description,” he said coolly. “And I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you—”

      “I daresay, Mr. Armstrong, you know nothing about me except for those details I have put in my stories.” She glanced at him. “And I try not to focus on my personal habits.”

      “Why?” Curiosity sounded in his voice. “You are writing about your own adventures after all.”

      “It’s very simple.” She turned toward him. “Regardless of whose adventures they are, my purpose isn’t to make readers admire the author but rather to become the hero or the heroine. Precisely why I chose to give the heroine of my stories a name different from my own. People cannot lose themselves in the story if they are too busy contemplating the author. Whether she is an early riser or prefers lemon to milk in her tea, it’s of no importance. All that matters is that people who read my stories forget the tedium of everyday life and lose themselves for an hour or an afternoon in another world.”

      He stared at her for a long, disbelieving moment. “Rubbish, Mrs. Gordon. You can’t possibly be serious.”

      “I most certainly am.”

      “People don’t want to be swept away.” He scoffed. “People want to be informed and educated and enlightened.”

      “Good Lord.” She laughed. “What utter nonsense. While indeed many people read newspapers, as well as books, to be informed and educated and enlightened, the vast majority of readers want nothing more than enjoyment.” She turned back to the sunrise.

      “People want facts, Mrs. Gordon,” he said firmly. “Indisputable facts.”

      “Do you really think people want to know that the Great Pyramid at Giza stands four hundred and eighty feet, nine inches high with a base very nearly square of 764 feet per side?”

      “I find that extremely interesting.”

      She ignored him. “Or would they prefer to read how the Great Pyramid rises into the heavens, dwarfing its companions as if they were insignificant interlopers and casting an ever growing shadow in the late afternoon sun, the hands of long-ago pharaohs, even in death, refusing to release their grip on their land and people and the Nile itself?”

      “I will admit your way is certainly more inventive. It is not however, especially accurate.”

      “No?” She heaved a resigned sigh, cast a longing look at the sunrise then faced him again. “Tell me, Mr. Armstrong.” She held out her glass. “Do the pyramids not cast a shadow in the setting sun that grows as sunset approaches and stretches toward the Nile?”

      “One could say that, I suppose,” he said and filled her glass.

      She raised a brow.

      “I admit, the Nile is to the east of the pyramids.” He took another pull from the bottle. “And the setting sun does cast a significant shadow.”

      “And does the Great Pyramid not tower over the others?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      “So what exactly was inaccurate?”

      “Admittedly, inaccurate might have been the wrong word.” His jaw tightened. This was exactly the kind of problem he had with her writing. “Fanciful is perhaps a better word. The pyramids are tombs, not the fingers of the hands of the pharaohs reaching out from death.”

      “My, you are stuffy.”

      He stared at her. She was right—he did sound stuffy. He laughed.

      “You find that amusing?”

      He grinned. “No one has ever called me stuffy before.”

      She shrugged. “Perhaps no one had the courage.”

      “Entirely possible.” He chuckled. He never used to be stuffy. But then he’d never been an earl with property and wealth and responsibility before either.

      “In spite of the imposing rhetoric in your uncle’s letters to The Times, and the threatening manner he used, you do not scare me, Mr. Armstrong.”

      “Does my uncle?”

      She met his gaze firmly. “No.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ